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<title>no one can save you now by Kkharrin</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26050678">no one can save you now</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kkharrin/pseuds/Kkharrin'>Kkharrin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blasphemy, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Character Study, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Food Kink, Multi, Polyamory, Smut, The Big Bang, Threesome - F/M/M, Weird body stuff, an altogether weird time, character study whilst boning, spoilers for harrow the ninth - Freeform, yes - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:01:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>808</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26050678</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kkharrin/pseuds/Kkharrin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>unlike Harrow I very much wanted that scene to continue...</p><p> <br/>there will likely be more of this, but I had to get this scene out of my system...</p><p> </p><p>(I have a ‘Harrow the Ninth’ playlist  in progress <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4d9IIoP6I2ovz1qL6Zmbog?si=nbpE4JJRSa61ZxhB9tRgvg">here</a> that I listen to when reading (and writing this), if you want some creepy necromantic beats for your collection)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Augustine the First/John Gaius | Necrolord Prime/Mercymorn the First, Mercymorn the First/ God/ Augustine the First</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>no one can save you now</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Your skin shudders with ghosts. </p><p>God’s lips are hard, hungry upon your own, the long column of his throat exposed as he reaches up to devour you. You straddle his lap, Augustine’s long fingers carding through your hair as he nestles you between them, his teeth leaving horrible little kisses along God’s jugular. </p><p>In ten thousand years the feel of their skin beneath your own has become the one remaining sensation. There were others, before, but now it is you between God, Augustine and a murder of ghosts. Oh, how they call, oh how their liminal fingers slide over your own, some like whispers, others like the bloated touch of a corpse. Oh, how they plead to ride your skin, to feel his touch again, how you sometimes long to let them in, to drown in the river undying. His touch is the one thing that anchors you...</p><p>‘Mercy...’ God whispers against your lips, his void glass eyes fixing you within their focus, hands sliding up over your hips, a prayer against your skin. </p><p>They press against you in all the right places, their thalergy a moth wing beat against your ribs. Augustine turns his attention to your back, your unwrapped shoulder the perfect canvas, the capillary beds erupting beneath his teeth, sending a bone deep ache through your core. </p><p>You slide one arm around your back, pressing him against your waist, the other dragging tight into God’s dark hair, exaggerating the curve of his cervical spine as you kiss him long enough to see black spots of oxygen deprivation across your vision, </p><p>You feel Augustine’s hair slide across your collarbone in a surge of iron and the sharp saline tang of cerebrospinal fluid. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him, and, yet, you love him.</p><p>Love and hate are the concepts of those who live a century, they have ceased to have meaning for you. </p><p>The unforgiving marble of the chair digs into your knees, you feel the bruises singing, can feel the hormone cascade through the thin membrane of distance between the three of you. How you wish you could melt again into one, a monstrous fusion of bone, fat and nerve...then you would never be alone. </p><p>You have thought of their touch as you murdered worlds, as you survived the deep bone silence of outer rim space, as you faced annihilation before the maw of a resurrection beast. You wear a bracelet formed of the teeth of your fellow lyctors, of God, a plain band of enamel because you so cannot bear to be alone. You have never spoken that single fear aloud, but somehow they know, as if it were a song vibrating through your bones. </p><p>God lifts you, spreads you out across the table like the feast you are. The tines of forks spear into your shoulder blades, dark wine pooling through the tendrils of your hair. The body and the blood, oh how he worships you. </p><p>‘John...’ You manage to moan, slipping your fingers into the dark nest of his hair. </p><p>You see his wicked bright eyes flash to you, feel the smirk against your skin as he does something so unbearable that it renders you temporarily unable to speak. You are burning solar fuel under his hands and lips, a white flash of atomic heat as you unravel. </p><p>Augustine is slowly, tenderly stripping the shirt from God’s back, one phalange sharpened to an unnatural point. As the fabric falls away, he presses his head to God’s spine, his hands hidden, manipulating a gasp from the man that you feel at your core. </p><p>God lifts his head to draw a breath, his lips are damp and raw, his cheeks bearing a very human flush. You wish to feel that flush against your chest, to be so close as to let his heat bleed into your own. You force yourself up, encircling his waist with your legs, letting his rib cage expand with the thud of your heart. </p><p>His void dark eyes are too close to focus upon, a heady blur with a flickering halo of white, a distant planetary ring encircling the magnetism of his soul. He has loved you through every incarnation of your body, worshipped every iteration of your soul, there is not love between you, there is the soul wracking power of a gravity well, your complete undoing. </p><p>The three of you lie coiled on the floor, a tangled heap of limbs, bodies as close as can be, filled and filling. Augustine is stroking your hair, his touch so gentle that you almost wonder whether Alfred wears his skin. Your master’s dark hair tumbles across the marble, every expansion of his chest a vibration deep in your core. He sighs and it is a sound of infinite contentment. </p><p>There, in their arms, time ceases to exist.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26352730">[Podfic] no one can save you now</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sisi_rambles/pseuds/sisi_rambles">sisi_rambles</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
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